Auntie
by elizabeth95
Summary: It was true Medda was considered an aunt to most of the newsboys. Racetrack found this out the night he first became a newsie.


**A/N: **Just a short little one-shot I came up with while re-watching Newsies.

It was quiet now in Irving Hall. Audience members had slowly trickled away after the last of Medda's songs. She had enjoyed it that night, more than other nights. Some of the newsboys were able to make it to her show, and Medda always paid them special attention. Having a hard life herself as she grew up without parents, Medda knew what it was like for those boys. Ever since she had first started performing, Medda found it a special treat when they visited, just like they found it a special treat to have the opportunity. They never ceased to brighten her day.

As the years rolled by, she grew closer to the different newsboys of Manhattan, and soon became "Aunt Medda". She wore the title with pride from then on.

That night, though, they had a new boy with them. Medda knew this by the way he acted around the others, like he was uncomfortable, and not quite used to the newsies rowdiness. That, and Medda already knew all of the newsies. Aunts _were_ supposed to know their "nephews". Medda didn't dwell much on the new kid, knowing she'd get to meet him later. But when she walked out into the theatre from backstage and saw him still sitting there, hat in his hands and eyes glazed over as they stared at the table, her maternal instinct kicked in and she was sure something was wrong.

Stopping Louise, one of the theatre workers, Medda pointed over to the boy. "Do you know who that is?"

Louise shook her head. "No ma'am. I asked him to leave, but he just told me "five more minutes." That was ten minutes ago. Want me to escort him out?"

"No, no, I'll handle it." Medda gave the young girl a reassuring pat on the arm and Louise smiled, continuing on with her cleaning. Medda slowly made her way over to the young boy. His features looked Italian, and he couldn't have been more than eleven, Medda thought. As she sat down at the table beside him, the boy looked up at her and gave a sigh.

"Don' worry, I'se leavin'," he mumbled. He placed his at on his head and began to stand, but Medda stopped him.

"You're new aren't ya, kid?" She asked after he sat back down and gave her a confused look. He nodded a little bit. "You got a name?"

"R-Racetrack, but dat ain't me real name," he explained. Medda smiled.

"Racetrack," she repeated. "That's a nice nickname." Racetrack gave a smile and shrugged. "I'm Medda Larkson; it's a pleasure to meet you." She held out her hand and Race took it, taking his hat off in respect while doing so. Medda was glad he had some manners, and figured he could probably teach some of the other ones a thing or two. "How long have you been with the newsies?" She continued asking.

"Jus' taday," he answered.

"And how do you like it so far?"

"It's okay."

Medda nodded and with another smile, stood from her seat. "Well," she started out, "if you ever feel like talking with me about anything, feel free to." With that, she began walking away. She wouldn't force him to spill the beans to her if he didn't want to.

"Wait." Medda stopped, and turned around to face Racetrack. There was no smile on his face, and his big brown eyes looked even bigger. "D'you mind if I ask youse somethin'?" Medda shook her head and returned to her seat. "I know its gonna sound kinda strange but… do youse still have yoah parents?" he asked. Medda had to agree with him, the question did sound kind of strange.

Giving a sad smile, she answered, "No. My mother and my father died when I was seven, their deaths were very close together. I was raised by my grandparents, but they passed away when I was fifteen." Medda took a deep breath, the memories still causing her to become upset. Sure, it had been a long time, but some things you just never get over. Not completely. "Why do you ask?" Racetrack didn't answer for a minute, and instead looked intently at his hand that were folded on the table.

"I really hate it ya know? Bein' an orphan. It ain't fun. And when I see kids who are yellin' at dere parents 'cause they ain't gettin' what they want… well it just makes me mad. I wanna slap 'em right den and dere. 'Cause dey don't know how good dey got it, havin' parents who love 'em an' all. And I don' know, I jus' miss 'em I guess," Racetrack finished his rant quietly. Medda pursed her lips, not expecting all of that from him, and was also reconsidering her earlier assumption that he was eleven. Now, after she listened to him, he seemed more mature. But maybe that was just the streets of New York that had done that to him.

"It is hard," Medda agreed slowly. "No one can ever replace parents. Parents are special, and that's how they were meant to be." Medda gave a small laugh recalling the times she had had with her own parents, though there weren't that many. "I remember my mother always had this ability to know when I was lying. No matter how hard I tried. And my father, he was able to be so gentle and stern at the same time. He was the only one who could really make me laugh, and I mean really." She sighed, absent-mindedly tracing circles on the wooden tabletop. Looking back at Racetrack, she noticed that his eyes had never left the table.

"I will tell you this, though," Medda said, taking her hand and lifting Racetrack's face up to look at her. "Just because parents are irreplaceable doesn't mean you can't have a family. Those newsboys, they're a family. They treat each other like brothers, and they watch out for each other. So don't be afraid of them. I can promise you that those boys will be that last ones to let you down, that's how loyal they are." She gave a nod as if to emphasize her point.

Just then a commotion was heard from in the lobby and two newsboys stuck their head, looking around the theatre. When one of the newsie's eyes landed on Racetrack, his face spilt into a grin. "Hey, dere he is!" he exclaimed. The two of them went over to where Racetrack and Medda were sitting, and collapsed in the other chairs, seemingly exhausted. Race simply raised his eyebrows at them.

"Hello Snitch, Kid Blink," Medda nodded to each of them as she said their names. "Me and Racetrack here have just been talking."

"Well while youse two were doin' that, almost all of Manhattan has been lookin' for Race," Kid Blink explained. Racetrack looked at them surprised.

"You have?"

"Yeah," Snitch replied, giving him an incredulous look. "'Course we have. You think we'se just gonna let you roam Manhattan on your own when you could be stayin' with us?" Race didn't have an answer for that. Instead he glance at Medda who gave him a knowing smile and a wink.

"What'd I tell ya?" she said in a low voice, so that the other two tired newsies couldn't here. Racetrack grinned at her.

"Guess we better head back now," Race glanced over at Kid Blink and Snitch. "T'anks for everythin'," Racetrack told Medda as he started standing up. Blink and Snitch slowly followed, disappointed they had to cut their rest short for the time being.

"No problem, kid. After all, they don't call me Aunt Medda for nothing," Medda said. Racetrack smiled again as he walked out of the theatre, Snitch right beside him and Blink dragging his feet behind them.

It was quiet now in Irving Hall. The talking of the newsboys had faded away. Medda felt a tug in her chest at the lack of sound and quickly started humming. Deep down, she had a feeling Racetrack would fit in quite nicely, and would be around for some time. Because she was the "Aunt", and Aunts knew their nephews.

So, hoped you like it. If you did, tell me in a review. If you didn't, tell me in a review. :)


End file.
